


Moments

by howelleheir



Series: Unfinished Works [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M, POV First Person, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22158241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howelleheir/pseuds/howelleheir
Summary: Bits and pieces, scraps, scenes, and other unfinished works. Many stop mid-sentence, most never develop a plot. These are all pieces that I started at one point or another and then moved on to another work, another ship, another fandom, or just got too busy to work on anything, so they will likely never be finished, but some of them were fun, and some were even good, so I'm putting them all out there with the disclaimer that they are abandoned WIPs, and unless a particular piece gets a lot of love and re-sparks my interest, I have no intention of coming back to them. Various fandoms and genres, some pieces very porny, some downright objectionable. Tread with care and mind the tags.In this work: Steve reflects on various moments.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Unfinished Works [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594933
Kudos: 4





	Moments

It’s 1934 and I follow him home, and we sit on the windowsill, just enough room for the two of us, heels idly kicking the brick. Bucky’s smoking a cigarette. He holds it out, far from his body, and blows his smoke up and away. I don’t tell him, but I like the smell, and anyway, it’s not bothering me right now. I wonder if he’d give me a drag if I asked for it. The sky goes pink and then deep blue, and then the fireworks start, and we just watch with our arms around each other’s shoulders. Then it’s over, and he’s climbing out of the sill, and telling me about the plans he’s got on Friday. Some girl he’s seeing. I’ve met her a couple of times. She’s not good for him, but they never are. It wouldn’t be right to say so. I just let him talk and try to be happy for him.

A few hours later, after everybody else goes to bed, we lay on the couch cushions on the living room floor even though he’s too tall to fit now. We’re whispering back and forth, cracking jokes and trying hard not to laugh out loud and wake anybody up. And then we’re not joking around anymore, and I don’t think either one of us knows exactly when or how it happened, but he’s got his arms around me, pulling me tight up against his chest and kissing my neck.

In the morning, I ask him what that was, and he shrugs. 

“Just playing around.”

It’s 1936 and Ma looks at me with her lips pressed together, like she wants to say something but doesn’t know if she should. She looks at me like that a lot lately, but then just puts a smile back on and things go back to normal. I wonder what’s got her so worried, but I’m too afraid to ask.

It’s 1940, and Ma’s gone. She never did stop giving me that look, she never said what was on her mind, but I knew. She was worried what kind of a life I was going to have. She’d heard about people like me, probably knew them, too. She knew what could happen, but she never said a word about it. I wish I could have told her it’s okay, not to worry, but I didn’t. 

Bucky’s got his own place now, a little apartment close to the Navy Yard. It’s small and the neighborhood is rough, but it’s his. He asks me to move in and I tell him I can make it on my own. I don’t want to be a burden on him. I don’t want to drag him down with me, but I just can’t help myself. He helps me set up a bed in the corner of the living room. I sleep in it twice, and then I don’t sleep in it anymore. After a couple of weeks, we move it into the bedroom, side-by-side with Bucky’s.

He tells me, “We’ve gotta find you a girl.”

It’s 1941, and we’re at war. I want to go, I want to fight, more than I’ve ever wanted anything. It’s the right thing to do. If I enlist, I can be a part of something important. If I enlist, I can follow in my father’s footsteps. If I enlist, I can finally be a real man. If I enlist, I won’t have to find a girl. If I enlist, I might get killed.

When I go to the recruitment center, I’m classified F-4 and sent home.

It’s 1942, and the girl Bucky’s seeing grabs my sketchbook without even asking. I try to grab it back before she can see, but she’s gripping some of the pages and the binding’s worn and fragile, and they tear out and scatter over the floor. Bucky sitting on the step and smoking, Bucky on his stomach on the floor holding playing cards, Bucky in his boxing gloves and little shorts, Bucky asleep on the couch, Bucky spread out on the bed in nothing but a lazy smile. The room goes so dead silent I swear I can hear my own heartbeat.

Bucky has a talk with her later. As far as I know, she doesn’t tell anybody. I hide all my drawings of Bucky at the bottom of a dresser drawer. We start going on double dates - whatever girl he’s seeing and whatever friend she can talk into it. I don’t feel right lying to the girls, wasting their time. I tell myself it’s worth it to keep our secret safe, but I can’t fake it like he can. I start to wonder if he’s  _ not _ faking it, and that just makes it more miserable.

It’s 1943, and I’m in a fight. Bucky breaks it up. He’s in a uniform. He tells me he enlisted, and he’s leaving in the morning. He wants to take me out before he goes. The fact that he’s shipping out tomorrow tells me that he’s known for weeks. When he puts his arm around me, I don’t flinch away. Right now, I don’t care who sees us or what they think. This might be our last time together.

There’s a recruiting station at the fair. I can see the sign through the crowd, but Bucky’s eyes are fixed on the stage. If I try again, I might get stationed with him. Even if I don’t, it’s better than staying here. I slip away before he has time to notice and talk me out of it, but he catches up. There’s an argument, and my heart races. I don’t want our last conversation to be a fight. I don’t think he does, either. When he hugs me, he dips his head and presses his lips to my neck, just a little kiss where no one can see. 

He brought two girls, and he wants to take them dancing. They’re not far behind, clamouring for his attention. I try not to hate them just for being there. It’s not their fault. Let him go. Let him have fun. 

I watch him walk away.

  
It’s 1943, and I’m at Lehigh. I’ve never felt quite so alien, but I’m not the only one. Agent Carter - she’s out of place, too. But she’s  _ made  _ this her place. She does what she has to to blend in, and where she can’t, she shapes the world around her, bends it by sheer force of will and refuses to accept anything less than the respect she deserves. 


End file.
